(no subject)
I had a nice little getaway to Kelley's Island with Scott yesterday. Kelley's Island is a little island in Lake Erie. It's basically a giant limestone boulder with a little dirt sprinkled on top -- there's probably nowhere on the island you can dig deeper than 10 feet without hitting bedrock. You can ride from one side to the other in a little golf cart in about 15 minutes. Back around the turn of the century, there were a bunch of limestone quarries on the island, but now it's mostly just quaint little Victorian vacation homes and a few touristy shops, although there is still one active quarry.
The main things I wanted to see were the glacial grooves and the alvar. A mile-and-a-half thick sheet of ice can do some amazing things, people. I don't know what it is about rocks, but I am inordinately fascinated with them. I am certain that if I had a partner living with me, I would have to listen to "sweetie, do you think maybe you could get rid of some of these goddamn rocks?" way more often than I'd be happy with. They're all over the place.
Mostly, I collect the ones that have holes in them -- they're called "hagstones" or "holy stones" in England, because they're supposed to keep milk from curdling and prevent nightmares due to the evil designs of witches. I have dozens of them, and although I think they're awesome and cool and worthy of bringing home, they aren't "pretty" in the sense that, say, crystals are pretty.
So I found two holy stones on the alvar and enjoyed the waves immensely. The limestone "beach," if you want to call it that, is constantly pounded by waves, and it gets cracked and pitted over time by the action of waves and ice in the winter. There were lots of areas where the cracks funneled the waves in such a way that they'd spray way up in the air, and I stood there getting soaked just so I could get the full effect. I could feel the stone under my feet shiver. I think Scott thought I was a bit mad, but he had to admit I was "glowing." The sound of waves slopping up on and then draining through large pebbles is something I could listen to all day. I was kicking myself for not bringing my camera.
The main things I wanted to see were the glacial grooves and the alvar. A mile-and-a-half thick sheet of ice can do some amazing things, people. I don't know what it is about rocks, but I am inordinately fascinated with them. I am certain that if I had a partner living with me, I would have to listen to "sweetie, do you think maybe you could get rid of some of these goddamn rocks?" way more often than I'd be happy with. They're all over the place.
Mostly, I collect the ones that have holes in them -- they're called "hagstones" or "holy stones" in England, because they're supposed to keep milk from curdling and prevent nightmares due to the evil designs of witches. I have dozens of them, and although I think they're awesome and cool and worthy of bringing home, they aren't "pretty" in the sense that, say, crystals are pretty.
So I found two holy stones on the alvar and enjoyed the waves immensely. The limestone "beach," if you want to call it that, is constantly pounded by waves, and it gets cracked and pitted over time by the action of waves and ice in the winter. There were lots of areas where the cracks funneled the waves in such a way that they'd spray way up in the air, and I stood there getting soaked just so I could get the full effect. I could feel the stone under my feet shiver. I think Scott thought I was a bit mad, but he had to admit I was "glowing." The sound of waves slopping up on and then draining through large pebbles is something I could listen to all day. I was kicking myself for not bringing my camera.